


Losing My Mind

by KannaOphelia



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Classical Music, First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, M/M, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Shamelessly Sappy, pining with a happy ending, prompt fill: music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 06:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: They meet at concerts and exchange notes.It has to be coincidence that every aria seems to be exposing Crowley's innermost thoughts. It couldn't possibly be that the universe is out to torture him.





	Losing My Mind

_Music referenced is in a Spotify playlist at the end of the fic_

Concerts had always been one of Crowley’s favourite rendezvous strategies. It was easy enough to accidentally on purpose have seats next to each other, a perfectly acceptable excuse to fall into conversation before the concert.

The bit of Crowley’s brain that was sensible and calculating pointed out to him that if the forces of Heaven or Hell noticed them sitting next to each other at concerts Questions Would Be Asked about why neither of them left, or smote, or did something else appropriately Adversarial rather than falling into conversation. But the same could be said about sitting together on the tops of buses, or feeding ducks together, and really if either of them sat and thought sensibly about it the entire Arrangement would have gone up in flames of logic centuries ago. So they didn’t. And they continued to share concerts together, because music was one of the pleasures of the world, and Crowley was all about pleasures of the world.

Not as much, he sometimes thought, as Aziraphale was.

Crowley liked music, true. But Aziraphale worshipped it.

He would lean forward, hands clasped tight on his lap, his mobile face glowing in the darkness with a faint lustre that Crowley sometimes wondered that the humans couldn’t detect, like some delicate creature in the dark cold of the deepest sea, creating its own light for the world cut off from the sun. Sometimes there would be tears in his round eyes, sparkling faintly on his lashes, lit by his eyes.

Crowley would let the music swell around them, and watch Aziraphale to his heart’s content.

The first time he broke the moment, it was at a performance of Debussey highlights. The tenor had just sung “_Toi de qui tant de ris framboisés_” and there was a delighted smile on Aziraphale’s lips and it was just too perfect so Crowley laughed. Aziraphale’s head whipped around and his smile faded, and what could Crowley say? _Your smiles really are like raspberries, angel?_ Or, even worse, his mind filled in some awful cliched pickup line like _So let me taste them_ and Aziraphale probably wouldn’t talk to him for years after that. And they had an Antichrist to raise.

So Crowley smirked, and Aziraphale looked a little hurt, and turned back to the concert. He glowed a little less, and Crowley stared a little less, and wished the evening was over.

When they said goodnight, and prepared to become Nanny and Francis again, Crowley reached out and grasped Aziraphale’s hand, just for a moment, and thought about lips that would not taste of raspberries but, just possibly, of interval champagne. Aziraphale looked confused, but pleased, glancing at the hand and to Crowley’s face and away.

The second time, it was Wagner, which Crowley preferred to Debussey, until Siegmund and Sieglinde’s love duet. He should have remembered, should have been prepared, but when the soprano began on _Du bist der Lenz_ he could feel something like panic well up in him.

_My heart leapt with fear and joy when you first looked at me._

It didn’t matter, he told himself. Look at Aziraphale, all caught up in the music, probably no thinking of the lyrics at all, and if he was he would be thinking of the forbidden love between twin brother and sister. Not of a serpent suddenly finding the Enemy looking at him with polite kindness on the wall of Eden.

_I had never seen anyone but strangers / And everything around me was friendless / It was as if everything that happened /Was happening to someone else, not me_

It wasn’t as if he’d ever even discussed his Fall with Aziraphale. It was the kind of subject best avoided, in case they stepped on the fragile excuses for their friendship. Aziraphale had never had problems being a being of love, had never struggled with the awareness of his own inability to love like an angel should, had never felt disconnected.

Until the awkward smile and worried fluttering and irrepressible kindness of an angel on the walls of Eden. If he had found that in Heaven, perhaps—but _Too Late_, that was always the time for those of Hell.

_But I knew you, plainly and clearly / It was as if you were my own._

It was torture, pure and simple. Crowley couldn’t be expected to endure this. He shifted, ready to get up and make some excuse, concert etiquette be damned. He put his hand on the arm of his chair, ready to push himself up.

Aziraphale covered his hand with his own.

Crowley stared at it, his mind going into meltdown. _He’s touching my hand he’s touching my hand why is it because he wants to hold my hand maybe he thinks he can stop me standing up and being rude and leaving the concert maybe it’s just that the music is moving him it is really beautiful isn’t it should I turn my hand over and **hold** his oh Satan_

_What I hid in my heart, all that I was / All came to me as bright as day_

Crowley sat very very tense and still, and eventually Aziraphale’s hand moved off his and folded with his other hand and the music went on.

Right. No more opera. Opera was dangerous.

But Aziraphale loved Sondheim. Sondheim was one of the reasons he wanted to save the world. Sondheim should be safe, all pretentious boring arseing around on stage. A Sondheim highlights concert, that was the ticket. Almost literally, except Crowley never actually bothered booking or buying tickets, he just told the ushers where they would be sitting.

Aziraphale’s lovely blue-green-brown-grey eyes were bright with happiness and excitement, his cheeks were flushed, and Crowley thought it would be a lovely evening. He would sit and watch Aziraphale enjoy the music, and it would be fun.

_I dim the lights / And think about you /Spend sleepless nights /To think about you_

Or he could go back to Hell and dive headfirst into a pit of lava. It would feel about the same.

As they said goodnight, Aziraphale said cautiously, “Are you all right? You seem withdrawn. Is something troubling you?"

“It's the child,” Crowley lied hastily. “I think maybe I’m overdoing it. I might want to back up on the evil a bit."

“I’ll work harder,” Aziraphale said contritely. “My dear—" His face was soft and gentle and concerned and his hand was out, and Crowley reached jerkily to grasp it.

“If all this doesn’t work out, angel, I just want you to know..."

“Yes,” said Aziraphale very softly. “Me, too.” His hand was very soft and warm, and his thumb rubbed over the back of Crowley’s knuckles.

Crowley pulled back his hand. “Right, then.” He turned to look out the window.

_You said you loved me, / But were you just being kind? / Or am I losing my mind?_

He turned again.

“Angel?"

Aziraphale looked confused, and adorable, and… hopeful?

Crowley put his arms around him and crushed his mouth against his and there was no way this could be explained away to Heaven or Hell and he didn’t care, because there was a warm soft body against his and raspberry lips opening to his and this was all he knew, everything he had, everything hidden in his heart.

And the music pounding in his ears didn’t come from any concert, but it was Tchaikovsky anyway.

_I love you, love you beyond all measure, / I cannot conceive a day without you._

[Playlist for this story](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0eWMYARZa6K5kXxT6PFf5Y?si=bYLwN-y4TrKOE3cvxiA8mA)


End file.
